What’s Your Favorite Word?

You ask me this question
like it's simple,
like words are coins
I can pluck from my pocket
and hold up to the light.

But I carry libraries
in my chest cavity,
dictionaries tucked
behind my ribs,
thesauruses threaded
through my nervous system.

Serendipity—
that's what you'd expect,
isn't it?
The way it rolls
off the tongue
like honey
mixed with starlight.

Mellifluous—
another predictable choice,
smooth as river stones
worn down by decades
of water's patient touch.

But you don't know
about the word
that wakes me
at 3 AM,
the one that sits
heavy in my stomach
like undigested grief.

Almost.

Almost loved.
Almost stayed.
Almost made it home
before the storm hit.

You collect words
like pressed flowers
between book pages,
beautiful and brittle,
while I hoard them
like a dragon
guarding treasure
that burns my throat
each time I swallow.

Do you remember
learning your first word?
Not mama or dada—
those don't count,
those are instinct
wrapped in vowels.

I mean the first word
that felt like choice,
like putting on clothes
that fit your soul
instead of your body.

Mine was yellow—
not because of sunshine
or daffodils
or any of the obvious reasons.
It was the sound
of my grandmother's laugh
when she caught me
stealing cookies
from the kitchen counter.

Yell-low—
two syllables
that meant
I see you being naughty
and I love you anyway.

Now you want me
to choose just one,
as if words were soldiers
standing at attention,
waiting for deployment.

But words are lovers—
jealous and possessive.
Choose one
and the others
will whisper accusations
in your dreams.

Ephemeral will remind you
how quickly
beautiful things disappear.

Cacophony will show you
the music hidden
in chaos.

Solitude will hold your hand
when loneliness
tries to convince you
they're the same thing.

You keep asking,
and I keep deflecting,
because the truth is
I'm afraid
of what my answer
might reveal.

Words are archaeology—
dig deep enough
and you'll find
bone fragments
of who you used to be,
pottery shards
of conversations
that changed everything.

Maybe my favorite word
is the one I've never spoken,
the one that lives
in the space
between my tongue
and teeth,
too sharp to release,
too precious to swallow.

Or maybe it's the word
you haven't said yet,
the one forming
in the back
of your throat
like a prayer
you're afraid
God might actually answer.

Breathe.
Stay.
Forever.
Please.

Simple words
that carry the weight
of entire universes.

I think about the words
we've lost—
languages dying
with their last speakers,
taking whole ways
of seeing the world
into silence.

There's a word
in Portuguese—
saudade—
for the longing
that comes from loss,
the presence
of absence,
the way missing someone
becomes its own
kind of love.

English has no equivalent.
We are word-poor
in the geography
of grief.

But maybe that's why
you're asking—
maybe you're searching
for the word
that doesn't exist yet,
the one we'll have to
build together
from silence
and shared breath.

Confluence—
where rivers meet
and become something
neither was before.

Liminal—
the threshold
between what was
and what might be.

Hiraeth—
the Welsh word
for homesickness
for a place
that never existed
or never existed
the way you remember it.

You see how this works?
Every word I offer
opens another door,
and behind each door
waits another question
you didn't know
you needed to ask.

My favorite word
changes with the weather,
with the news,
with the angle
of sunlight
through my bedroom window.

Some days it's resilience—
the way bamboo bends
without breaking.

Other days it's gossamer—
spider silk
strong enough
to catch dreams.

Today, right now,
with you looking at me
expectantly,
waiting for an answer
that will satisfy
your curiosity
or fulfill
your assignment
or win
your bet—

Today my favorite word
is listen.

Not because it's beautiful
or rare
or rolls off the tongue
like expensive wine.

But because it's what
you're doing right now,
creating space
for my words
to land safely
in your understanding.

Listen—
six letters
that contain
the entire universe
of human connection.

You hear the words
I'm saying.
You hear the words
I'm not saying.
You hear the spaces
between words
where truth
often hides.

And maybe
that's the real answer
to your question:

My favorite word
isn't mine at all.

It's yours—
whatever word
you choose
to give back
to this moment,
this exchange,
this small miracle
of meaning
passing between us
like a secret
only we know
how to keep.

#Poetry #FavoriteWord #Language #PoeticExpression #HumanConnection #EmotionalPoetry #WordMeaning #Introspection